Fetish
by satan-chillin
Summary: Saitama learns two things through amazing self-discovery and general obliviousness: He likes Genos's mouth, and Genos is in love with him. Saitama handles both with the finesse he naturally (lacks) has. SaiGenos


It took Saitama a couple of times before he caught himself staring.

He blinked. "Sorry, what?"

Genos gave him a frown that was more out of confusion than annoyance in having to repeat himself.

Saitama looked away from Genos's face and heard him say that they were running out of eggs.

"Ok." He might find a few discount coupons on poultry if he looked for it.

Genos gave a list of what more they have to shop for, and Saitama grunted without looking at him. He would remember the list better with his face turned the other way, so long as Genos was close by.

There was a shuffling of feet behind Saitama, and for a moment he thought Genos was heading for the kitchenette to check their stock when Genos's face appeared, hovering over Saitama.

Genos stared.

Saitama stared back.

"What is it?" he asked.

Genos searched his face, and Saitama fought to maintain his carefully blank expression.

Saitama struggled to look flat as soon as his eyes landed on Genos's mouth.

"Nothing, Sensei," Genos replied without leaning back.

Being this close was a very, very bad idea.

Fortunately, Genos withdrew, retreating to his spot in the kitchenette. It didn't escape Saitama's notice that Genos's brows remained furrowed in concentration while he began preparing dinner, occasionally sparing Saitama odd glances.

Inadvertently, Saitama's attention was on Genos's lips again, and while the effect wasn't quite as terrible at this distance, his eyes lingered on them still.

When Genos looked up sharply to meet his gaze, Saitama looked away just as fast and pretended that he was looking for the remote and tuned in to the news.

This was getting ridiculous.

* * *

Saitama couldn't sleep.

Usually, he would chalk it up to an occurrence of insomnia out of the reserve energy from lying around all day without any form of activity. This time, though, there was something else that was badgering him out of sleep: Genos on the other side of the cramped living room one futon away, his sleeping face turned to Saitama.

Specifically, it was his mouth, lips parted distractingly. In the dim lighting, Saitama's mildly addled mind could see imaginary puffs of breath coming out, followed by a small slip of the tongue to swipe down his lower lip and glistened it with the sheen of artificial saliva.

Fuck.

Saitama knew he has it bad. He couldn't point out where it began exactly, his hyperawareness of Genos's physical features and his particular appreciation for the lower part of Genos's face.

He felt like a pervert staring intently at Genos's face whenever the latter wasn't looking, though Saitama was comforted by the fact that he drew the line in imagining Genos's mouth anywhere near him, _on _him, or down—

Saitama wanted to smack his head. _Don't go there, don't go there…_

"Sensei," came Genos's half-muffled groan in _incredibly _proper timing. "Saitama…"

Saitama wanted to rip his hair—if he has any. Because of course, _of course_, Genos would let out a kind of sound that caused all of Saitama's blood to run south. It wasn't fair—did cyborgs even dream?!

Uh, oh. Something was rising, and it wasn't Saitama's internal voice of reason.

He tiptoed over Genos, rushing towards the bathroom and almost slammed the door close off its hinges in his hurry to douse himself with cold water, forgetting to strip his pajamas.

Saitama left the bathroom irritated and soaked in the middle of the night like a cat left out in the rain. At least he, er, cooled down.

Which was for the best seeing as Genos was already standing there when Saitama exited. Genos simply blinked at his present state, wordlessly handing Saitama a fresh towel.

"Thanks," Saitama murmured, rubbing his head and removed his wet top. "Did I wake you?"

Genos shook his head. "You didn't, Sensei." For some reason, he was unable to look at Saitama. Ugh, Saitama roused him, didn't he? "Would you like something to drink? To help you sleep."

"Hot choco sounds good."

Saitama plopped down the futon with Genos beside him, sitting in a seiza. He supposed this should be improper, technically eating on the bed, but then again nothing was normal with him and Genos.

"Sensei," Genos called.

"Hmm?"

"Is there something wrong?"

"Nah."

"You can be honest with me."

Not really, Saitama thought. He didn't want to ruin Genos's idea of him and realize that Saitama was a creep who has a thing for cyborg lips. He heard of people with far odder fetishes before that hardly make them social pariahs. Not that it should have been a concern of his; people in general already didn't have a good image of him.

"It's nothing," he said instead.

A flash of disappointment crossed Genos's face that Saitama didn't miss. It went away as quickly as it came before Genos gave a nod. "I see. I'll be turning in for the night, Sensei. I'll wash the cups tomorrow morning. Good night."

Saitama washed their cups either way and returned under the covers afterward. Genos's back was turned on him when Saitama spared him a glance.

Saitama fell asleep feeling guilty.

* * *

If there was anyone to blame here, it was the doctor.

He has no business making Genos's lips look tantalizing and natural despite being made of silicone. Or maybe it wasn't silicone, maybe it was made of some faux-skin material that turned out to be actual skin.

Nah.

He did an experiment of sorts. Since he was often in front of the TV, he might as well change channels and watch celebrity interviews. He clicked on the remote and remembered that he only has two channels.

There was a female idol being interviewed on the screen, doing all the cutesy expressions and hand gestures. To Saitama's luck, the camera zoomed in to her face, and he stared.

Small lips with pink lipstick and a pretty pouty quality on it. Saitama blinked and stared intently.

Nope. Nothing.

A commercial break followed and Saitama was forced to get through the minute intermission before another interview started. This time it was live in a studio with a male guest who has light-blue hair. He looked vaguely familiar.

The name _Amai Mask _was flashing on the screen. Hmm. Saitama might have heard of the name—was it from a pastry shop by any chance?

"We're here today with the hero, actor, and singer Amai Mask," the interviewer chirped. Amai Mask waved at the camera with a dazzling smile.

_Huh. This guy is a hero? Have I seen him before?_

"Hello, everyone," Amai Mask greeted, his beam fixed in place. Those were perfect white teeth.

Amai Mask was asked with a series of questions that Saitama hardly bothered to pay attention to. He yawned when the questions jumped from hero work to his new album.

"This new album of yours is one of the most talked about on the internet this week." There were clapping that followed the interviewer's statement. "And we heard that some fans have been analyzing the lyrics of the song 'I Want You To Be Mine' and said that the words sounded more inspired and grounded than your other songs, and compared to others, the lyrics were written by you personally. We have here some tweets that are asking where the inspiration came from."

Saitama raised an eyebrow and for a moment thought Amai Mask looked annoyed. It was gone in a blink, and though he smiled, the guy's expression appeared fake. Saitama was about to change to the news when the camera focused on Amai Mask who pursed his lips in deep thought.

Saitama lingered on the channel a bit.

"Well, they're not wrong." Amai Mask let out a bashful chuckle. "I _am_ inspired. There's only one person in my mind when I wrote that."

There were _oohs _and whistling that came from the audience. The interviewer leaned closer in interest.

"Oh, wow. This is a first that we're hearing this! I'm afraid you broke a lot of hearts with that admission."

"Oh, no, no no," Amai Mask interrupted with a shy laugh. "I'm not involved with them or anything. Aside from the fact that we're both heroes."

Cheers and giggling followed.

"You can't not tell us more!" The interviewer exclaimed. Saitama scratched his head. Wasn't that a private thing?

Amai Mask, however, was more than willing to share by the looks of it. He bit his lower lip charmingly. "I can't mention any names, of course. For their privacy. We've met occasionally and very recently. To be frank, we're yet to make a decent interaction without any nuisance. But you should have been there—they're amazing and breathtakingly powerful. A hero in their own right. I'm looking forward to working with them again by their side." He sighed wistfully.

The audience let out an _Awws_ that had Amai Mask smiling sheepishly, the camera returning to capture Amai Mask's reaction. Saitama took another chance to observe his lips. It looked like a celebrity's lips, he supposed, shiny and not chapped like his. Amai Mask's lips didn't look much different from the female idol's earlier, just wider and manlier.

Saitama yawned and switched back to the news, which was just as well since it was about the latest report on Y-City where HA called for Genos to defeat a rampaging squid monster. There were short clips of the fight, and by the looks of it, Genos defeated it. The reporter was on site, and the focus of the camera went wonky when the reporter said she found Demon Cyborg and was running towards where she saw him. Saitama wondered why they even bothered; Genos never did like his face showed on TV.

As expected, Genos curtly refused an interview, but the camera lingered on him still until he flew away. Saitama didn't miss Genos's missing arm and cracked cheeks that ran down on one corner of his lips.

Other than those, he looked alright.

It wasn't long when Saitama received a text that Genos would be stopping by Dr. Kuseno to get himself repaired. There was a note that there were leftovers in the fridge and that Saitama eat supper without him.

While Saitama found the food less enjoyable when he ate alone (a thing he discovered since he got a roommate), the solitude allowed him to mull over some stuff that occupied his mind for too long than they should. Heck, he even discovered something about him that he knew wasn't there before.

The more Saitama dwelled on it, it wasn't so much of having lip fetish but rather who it was.

It was Genos. Only Genos could make him react this way about a mouth. An artificial mouth no less.

"_Ok," _he typed in reply. Saitama hesitated before adding, _"take care of urself next time dude."_

He hit send and thought that was the end of it when he received a reply immediately.

"_I will, Sensei. I apologize for worrying you."_

Saitama grunted. It wasn't really his main point, but oh well. Sending his point across through text was ineffective.

"_Not that. Just take care ok?"_

He didn't put down the cellphone for a while, watching the three dots move in a wave, signifying that Genos was typing a reply. It abruptly stopped for a minute and that was it.

And then a reply came in a form of a picture.

It was Genos, the hand of his detached arm was forming a thumbs up. He looked so grim and serious while the doctor was captured as well in the background, looking at Genos as if he grew another head.

Saitama snorted and burst into an unflattering laugh.

"_dude I'm saving this."_

He was calm after a moment but he could feel his mouth stretched into a grin. He hasn't laughed in a while, he knew, and if the image was intended as a joke then it was a success. But Genos? Seriously? That guy probably didn't know what a joke was.

"_enjoy, Sensei."_

Pft. What was it, food? Though a huge part of Saitama was aware that Genos was a _snack._

Yeah, Saitama should shut that up.

Absently, his thumb hovered over the spot where Genos's lips were. The upper part showed the cracks, though they didn't make Genos's mouth any less attractive. Saitama couldn't explain it, but it was as if he wanted to touch a doll whose cheek was partly broken. He would have to be careful lest his strong hands caused further damage.

He sighed wearily.

This has to stop.

* * *

"Is there a word for lip fetish?" Saitama asked. The question was hardly out of the blue, seeing as it was King who opened that particular can with his talk of this manga with a main character whose fetish was girls with glasses and cat ears.

King looked like he was inclined to the same specifics, and Saitama wasn't about to call him out on it even if it sounded weirder than his inclination.

"Er, I don't know." King scratched the back of his head. "Is there even a thing like that?"

"Dude, you just mentioned fetishes for cat girls with glasses."

"Right. But those are, you know, not really parts of the body. Lips are, and—I don't know how to explain this—aren't they part of the whole package? Like, you know."

Saitama only partly knew what King was getting at, but he nodded anyway. So there was no name for lip fetish. Bummer.

What exactly did King mean by the whole package?

King has this weird expression when he watched Saitama during the cutscene of the game.

"What?"

King looked away, shrugging. "Nothing."

Saitama's eyes were on the screen, though he hardly registered the playing cutscene—come to think of it, the game has several. He hesitated. It would mortify the hell out of him, but at the same time, the nagging in his mind would lessen. Hopefully.

"How about a fixation with cyborg lips? Or… cyborgs in general?" Was it right to generalize? Saitama didn't know any cyborg aside from Genos after all.

The only sound heard was Saitama's twiddling of his thumbs atop the controller. King was seemingly frozen in nervousness for some reason, judging from the rapid heartbeat he has.

Saitama heard him gulp before weakly saying, "Are you sure you're not pertaining to Genos specifically?"

King was right.

"I guess?"

"Didn't take you that long," King murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"All those…" King thought of a better way to phrase it, "heart eyes you've been giving him."

Wasn't that supposed to only happen in manga and anime? Besides, Saitama didn't give 'heart eyes'.

Or did he?

"I'm curious. When did you realize?"

"Realize what?"

King sighed. "That you love him back."

That was a strong statement, wasn't it? Love. Saitama liked Genos around since he was of great help around the house—

Uh, no. He actually liked Genos more than that. Genos was a cool guy; pretty to look at, Saitama guessed. Then there was his mouth.

Saitama paused and remembered. "What do you mean 'back'?"

An inexplicable look that could be passed as horror fell on King's face. "Oh, no."

* * *

There was _something _that Saitama has to take care of, though he only remembered it in the middle of his nth staring at Genos's mouth three days since he was back.

Apparently, Genos held him in higher regard that exceeded the way a student would their mentor—at least, that was the conclusion Saitama reached several hours after his rather enlightening talk with King.

Saitama didn't know what to do with that information.

He could confront Genos directly, kind of like how a male character in a romance manga or anime would deal with an admirer. He doubted he would get a confession by Genos, and it made things a bit easier since it meant the timing was up to Saitama, so was whether to address it or not.

The stereotypical approach wouldn't work with Genos. For one, he wasn't a girl, and two, Saitama's life wasn't a romance manga or anime. If anything, Saitama's life was more of a shonen anime that broke the genre's usual tropes.

Saitama was thinking too much about it, he realized. He was never good with overthinking in the first place. Simple always worked for him.

"Genos," Saitama began, swallowing the food in his mouth. "Is it true that you love me?"

The rice bowl on Genos's hand broke in several pieces, and the chopsticks he was holding on the other were snapped into two.

It went awfully quiet.

Genos took the time to compose himself, idly cleaning with his hands the mess he made. He sat straighter, his back rigid, but his eyes refused to meet Saitama's eyes. "I'm—May I ask when—May I ask who told you?"

"Ah, King said it when I asked him something."

Genos frowned, unsure until Saitama heard a loud whirring of his internal fans.

"I see."

"Well?" Saitama egged. He didn't feel like continuing his lunch just yet.

"It's—It's true," Genos said carefully. "Though I do not know how King could have known." Saitama could see his fists tightening atop the table. "You don't have to say anything, but if it bothers you, then give me a few hours to arrange my things so I can leave tonight."

"Huh? I didn't ask you to leave!"

"I know, Sensei, but it'll be incredibly awkward for you to be around someone like me."

"What do you mean someone like you?"

Whether Genos knew he was worrying his bottom lip, Saitama didn't know. It was unbelievably distracting though.

"Please don't let me say it, Sensei." Genos closed his eyes and seemingly sucked in a breath, out of need given the present situation. "It'll be uncomfortable to live with someone who you know feels something for you that you'll never be able to return."

Eh, did Saitama say that? Nah, he would remember if he did. That came wholly from Genos. "I never said that," he accused.

Genos's eyes widened, an unmistakable glimmer of hope in them that had Saitama feel fond even more. "What is Sensei driving at?"

It was Saitama's turn to be embarrassed. "Um, I kinda have a thing for your lips."

Genos blinked. "My… lips?"

"Yeah, remember when you asked me last time what was wrong because I keep spacing out? Well, I just like watching your mouth, that's all." Should he also tell about the sudden shower in the middle of the night?

Genos's fingers went to touch his mouth. It probably wasn't a conscious movement. "Sensei likes them?"

"Y-Yeah. Very much." Saitama struggled to keep his eyes on Genos's, though his gaze would drift down a couple of times, hard not to with only the table between them. Saitama was fascinated at the contrast of metal fingers on Genos's soft pale lips. "I tried watching some people on TV or anyone out there. I don't—It's not the same when it's not you. That idol hero doesn't even compare."

The whirring of Genos's internal fans veered even louder, and wow, it suddenly got hotter within the room.

The look Genos fixed him was bashful and affectionate and rolled with something new and inexplicable that went straight to the pit of Saitama's stomach. "Sensei can touch them."

Saitama's line of thinking went flat, and what remained was _yes, I'd like to touch Genos's lips._

Genos took his silence as an affirmation and stood, rounding the table to sit close by Saitama's side. Saitama leaned curiously, though he made no other move, his fingers twitching on his lap. Genos seemed to sense his hesitation and reached for Saitama's hands, placing them on each side of his face.

For a second, Saitama's hands shook, afraid that he would crush Genos's head if he wasn't careful. Genos let him take his time to turn bold and run his thumbs across Genos's lips.

It was soft as he imagined, with a bouncy feel that wasn't completely human. It felt like silicone which made it appear more organic than synthetic. It was nice to the touch.

Genos's eyes fluttered close at the sensation, sighing in contentment. His small exhale brushed the skin of Saitama's thumbs, sending delicious shivers to Saitama's body.

"Hey," Saitama said with difficulty. "I like you too, just so you know. I like you more than this. I won't call it love yet, but I can see myself getting there. With you."

Genos seemingly melted at the admission. "I don't mind waiting, Sensei."

Saitama figured that he quite liked this. He liked to be with Genos like this.

"Shall we continue?" Genos's tone was more confident and open. Suggestive. "You're yet to kiss me, Sensei," he added, almost teasing.

For all of Saitama's claim of liking Genos's lips, he was yet to feel them with his own. Why wasn't Saitama doing so anyway?

"Or maybe, you'd rather do this first."

There was wet, soft heat that wrapped itself on one of Saitama's thumbs—yeah, that was Genos's mouth, alright, sucking like a lollipop on Saitama's digit.

_Well, there goes my self-restraint,_ Saitama thought.

Ah, fuck it.


End file.
